Behind closed Doors
by Schattengestalt
Summary: Sherlock and John are finally together. Everything should be perfect for the new couple but John fears that Sherlock is hiding something from him. Something important. Johnlock.
1. Closed

**Author Notes:** I felt like writing something fluffy and maybe a little silly - you be the judge of that - but it turned a little angsty on the way. ^^ I hope you enjoy the story.

It has two chapters and I intend to post the second one next week. :)

**Behind closed Doors**

_There was a pattern but John didn't notice it. Not at first._

OOO

"You were brilliant, Sherlock. I will never forget the expression on Dimmock's face when you told him that the suspect... Hmpf!"

John gasped in surprise and stumbled backwards until he hit the wall when he was attacked by a lanky detective. And when he said _attacked_, John meant that Sherlock was currently pushing his tongue into his mouth and pressing as close to John as was humanly possible at the same time. Not that John was complaining, not in the least. If there was anything better than a closed case with the murderer behind bars then it was getting snogged by the brilliant detective who had caught said murderer. Especially when John was certain that they wouldn't stop at snogging.

They rarely stopped at snogging these days. It was as if they had to make up for all the time they had wasted by denying their feelings for each other. Not to mention the two years of Sherlock's _death. _John wasn't even sure anymore how he had survived the time without Sherlock. It still felt like a miracle sometimes that he was alive and even more so that John was allowed to kiss Sherlock these days. And that his kisses were more than welcome as Sherlock had proven to him time and again. Just the same way that Sherlock was showing John right now how much he was wanted.

"Stop thinking, John! It's distracting."

Sherlock didn't give him the time to protest as he attacked his mouth once more. And... Oh dear God, Sherlock was doing it again! The thing with his lips when he...

A moan caught in his throat as Sherlock sucked John's tongue into his mouth and pushed his leg between John's thighs at the same time. It was just some small friction, merely a hint of pressure but it was enough to send John's blood rushing southwards. His jeans turned uncomfortably tight as his cock hardened and pushed against its denim made prison.

Christ but who would have thought that Sherlock was so good at sex?! John certainly hadn't anticipated it. No when he had imagined sex with Sherlock - in a realistic way and not while he was masturbating - John had assumed that his friend would be shy and insecure. Somehow the picture of a blushing Sherlock when touching John's cock for the first time had appeared adorable in his mind but... the reality was so much better. John had always enjoyed when his lovers were confident and Sherlock... he took the meaning of the word to a whole new level. Sometimes John wondered why he had suspected anything else at all. He was talking about Sherlock after all. A man who had invented his own job, for Christ's sake. And speaking of Sherlock...

"You taste divine, John."

The low baritone sent shivers down his spine and John swore he felt how his cock pushed impatiently against the fabric of his pants.

"I want to taste more of you."

A low gasp was torn from John's throat when long fingers squeezed his cock through his jeans closed. The sound turned into a painful groan when John hit his head against the wall.

"Bed," John gasped although his cock didn't seem to have noticed his clash with the wall. "Your room... closer."

Silence and then before John could start to worry: "The sofa is even closer."

John opened his mouth to point out that the sofa hadn't been made for two grown men to have sex on it but the words never made it past his lips. He didn't know how Sherlock managed to kiss him so efficiently that all thoughts vanished from his mind and only the most primal instincts remained. The ones that screamed for John to follow Sherlock's lead and to allow his friend to push him back onto the couch while skilled fingers opened his trousers. They were pushed all the way down to his ankles a second later and John sighed in relief when his cock sprang free.

"No, don't lay back," Sherlock ordered as he made short work of the buttons on John's shirt. "I need you in a sitting position."

John didn't ask - he suspected where this was going - and merely leaned back against the cushions and spread his legs in invitation.

"I'm all yours." The words were intended as a light banter but John almost regretted them when he noticed the tender look in his friend' s eyes. Not because they weren't true but rather because the timing felt all wrong. Such meaningful words shouldn't been thrown around in such a thoughtless way. No, they should be whispered by candlelight while quiet music was playing and...

"You are doing it again." Sherlock's annoyed sigh brought John back to the present and his painfully erect cock. "Stop thinking! We aren't made for romantic dates."

John never got the chance to ask Sherlock how he had deduced what he had been thinking as his mind chose to focus on other things. More important things. Like how his lover dropped to his knees between his legs and... Oh God!

John swore he tasted blood as he bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from screaming out loud as a wet mouth enfolded his throbbing length. And Christ... Sherlock could give lessons on how to give a fantastic blowjob because it was just that... fantastic. Wet lips put just the right amount of pressure on the shaft and when Sherlock sucked and popped his head up and down at the same time, John saw stars for a second. He didn't come, then but it was a close call when skilled fingers started massaging his balls and Sherlock's tongue... John didn't even know what he did with it but it felt incredible.

John blinked his eyes open and only managed to hold off his orgasm through sheer willpower - or maybe, Sherlock's fingers around the base of his cock were responsible for it - as he laid eyes on his lover. Sherlock always looked like an otherworldly being with his high cheekbones, his dark curls and his mesmerizing eyes and now wasn't any different. It was just... he looked damn sexy as well. And how couldn't he?! Kneeling between John's legs, his kiss-swollen lips stretched around his cock. Hollowed cheeks and hooded eyes and... John was on the brink of orgasm when Sherlock pulled away.

"What..." John groaned and reached for his leaking cock to finish the job when his brain caught up with his lover's actions. Sherlock shed his clothes in record time and then stood completely naked before him.

John's mouth ran dry and he forgot all about his needy cock as he let his eyes roam over Sherlock's body. He had seen him naked countless times already but he was still amazed every time all of Sherlock's skin was bared before him. His friend... he was beautiful. Every inch of him, from his impossible long legs over his well-muscled chest and to the cheeky grin on his face. Yes, beautiful was the only word to describe Sherlock. And the word didn't even only apply to his body but to his mind as well. Sometimes John still couldn't believe that such a brilliant and attractive man had chosen him as his lover, partner and friend. A man who had just now retrieved a condom and a small packet of lube from between the cushions of the couch and held them out to John.

"I want to feel you inside me, John. Is this acceptable?" The question was accompanied by a wink but Sherlock still waited for his silent nod before he rolled the condom on John's leaking cock and spread a healthy amount of lube on it.

"Ready?"

All John could do was nod and then Sherlock was climbing on top of him and... John didn't even try to hold back the moan this time when Sherlock sank slowly down on his cock. Both men paused for a second, chests heaving with the effort to get enough air into their lungs and then Sherlock started to move. Not slowly but fast and hard and John could only hold on Sherlock's hips as his lover rode him as if there was no tomorrow. It was a picture, John would remember to his last day. Sherlock's head thrown back. His pale throat exposed. Sweat running down his chest. His hard length popping up and down between their bodies as he fucked himself on John's cock.

Mind you, there sex wasn't always like this: Hard and fast. Sometimes, it was sweet and slow or filled with laughter and kisses but today... Today, they both needed this fast pace. The chance to come down from their adrenalin high and to feel that they were both alive. So very much alive.

Sherlock came first. He shuddered. A scream fell from his lips as his orgasm rendered him otherwise speechless. Warm come splashed on John's stomach, chest and lips. The bitter taste of Sherlock's semen when he darted his tongue out to lick it off, was John's undoing. A couple of upwards thrusts was all it took for him to jump over the edge after his lover.

And in the aftermath of this memorable ride - when they were snuggled together underneath a blanket on the couch - John had completely forgot what had given him pause right before the mind-blowing sex had taken place.

OOO

_John wasn't a genius like Sherlock but he started to notice that something was off... slowly._

OOO

"I like her."

John smiled fondly down at the mop of dark hair that rested in his lap and ran his fingers through the messy curls. He didn't remind his lover that only ten minutes ago he had sneered at the idea of watching a Miss Marple movie. Instead he settled back more comfortably against the cushions and kept his thoughts to himself. No need to get into an argument with Sherlock about John's taste in movies when they finally got to enjoy a peaceful evening at home. Not that John would ever complain - too loudly - about the mad dashes through London's backstreets or their fights with knife-wielding criminals but this was a nice change from their usual routine. No stinking experiments. No body parts on the kitchen table. No case files scattered on the floor. No shouting matches with the TV. It was pure bliss and John would enjoy it as long as it lasted.

"She isn't as clever as I thought at first if she doesn't know who the murderer is by now. Still... I like her attitude."

John chuckled quietly and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "I thought you would, Sweetheart."

"Why do you say that?"

A frown appeared between two raised eyebrows as John stared down at his lover's still and almost tense body. "Because she is eccentric in her own ways just like you."

"No." Curls whipped violently across his lap as Sherlock shook his head. "Not that part. I mean... why would you call me _Sweetheart_? I'm not... sweet."

For a second John was torn between either making a joke about the obvious _not-sweetness_ of certain body fluids of his lover or taking him seriously. As much appeal as the former held, John doubted that his attempt at humor would be well received.

"It was an endearment. I won't use it again if you don't like it but just for the record: You can be rather sweet or even cute when you don't pretend you are above everything."

"I'm not cute." The pout in Sherlock's voice was so obvious that John couldn't hold back a low giggle. "Yes, you are... like a precious four-year-old child especially when you stumble out of your room, in the mornings."

It was meant as a tease but when John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, he noticed just how tense his lover had gone at his words. He reminded John of a cat that was about to jump from the couch and hiss at him from a place on the mantle.

"It was a joke," John whispered apologetically into dark curls although he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Most of the time, he could follow the sudden mood swings of his lover but today he was at a loss as to what he had done wrong.

"It's fine."

It didn't feel like an honest reply as Sherlock turned back to watch TV but John let it go as he was relieved that their evening hadn't been ruined completely. No matter that it took another Miss Marple movie until his lover was as relaxed as before their conversation.

OOO

_If John hadn't still felt guilty about how the teasing had gone out of hand, he would have made a few observations, this evening. As it was, he only got more material to think about later._

OOO

"Sherlock," John tickled the base of his neck until his lover looked up to meet his gaze. "Do you want to sleep with me, tonight?"

The idea had been at the forefront of John's mind for some time now. In fact, he had yearned to wake up next to his lover since they had shared their first kiss. Of course, John was aware that sharing a bed usually wasn't as romantic as it sounded. From stealing the covers over finding an arm or a leg in his face to snoring loudly, sharing a bed could be a real challenge. Still, even if Sherlock was prone to kick, box, shout and deduce in his sleep while he stole the covers, John wanted to have his lover in his bed tonight. Except for the few times when they had fallen asleep right after an exhausting round of sex, they had yet to share a sleeping space and John was determined to change this as of tonight.

"John." A frown creased Sherlock's forehead as he met his gaze. "I'm flattered that you want to sleep with me but" John's heart dropped as he heard the rejection. "I'm really not in the mood for it, right now."

John blinked then frowned and finally laughed as he realised what his lover was talking about. "You thought... No, I wasn't asking to... Sherlock, wait! I'm not laughing at you!"

A skeptical look was all John received as he jumped up from the couch and gripped Sherlock's wrist when his lover was about to bolt from the room. "I'm sorry," John tried again and this time some of the tension flew from his lover's body although he still remained alert. "It's just... it's so easy to misunderstand this phrase and it's always kind of funny when it happens. You know?"

The frown ceased but Sherlock still looked pensive as his eyes swept over John's body until he shook his head. "No, I wouldn't know that."

Now, it was John's turn to frown as he raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "But you said that you had lovers in the past and you have more experience in some areas than I have."

A sigh, one usually reserved for especially dumb police officers fell from Sherlock's lips as he rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Just because I slept with men, doesn't mean that I shared a bed with them. So... No, I never got the chance to confuse the meaning of _sleeping with someone _because it was always clear that it was meant in a sexual context."

John opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again with a snap. His first instinct had been to show sympathy for Sherlock's lack of experience in this common area but as soon as the thought had struck him, John had dismissed it. If Sherlock hated anything more than stupidity, it certainly was sympathy or - God forbid - pity. So, instead of telling him that all his former lovers had been arseholes for not wanting to cuddle up to Sherlock at night, John... grinned.

He grinned and then winked at his lover. "So, I'll be your first in one regard, at least."

"Well, if you put it like this... No." Barely concealed mirth was reflected in blue eyes as Sherlock met John's surprised gaze. "I shared a bed with Mycroft when I was little and..."

"This doesn't count. Childhood experiences with siblings don't count!"

Sherlock's deep laugh filled the room at his outburst and John allowed himself to relax. The storm had been warded off although John still didn't understand why Sherlock was so thin-skinned when it came to certain kinds of jokes. And when he thought about it...

"You should prepare yourself for bed."

John cocked his head to the side and glanced up at his lover. "How do you know that I'm not ready for bed, yet?"

This earned him a sigh. "You are wearing comfortable pants and a shirt and while you could intend to sleep in them, you don't. You have worn them all day so you will wear something else to sleep in. Besides, you had a biscuit with your tea just an hour ago and you as a doctor would never go to sleep without brushing your teeth first. Therefore, you still have a few things to do before we can go to bed together."

John should be used to Sherlock's observation skills by now and he was but still...

"Brilliant."

"Not really," Sherlock muttered but John noticed the light blush that graced his pale cheeks before his lover could turn away. "Hurry up now, I actually want to get some sleep tonight."

John didn't tease Sherlock for his eagerness to go to sleep and instead leaned forwards to press a kiss to Sherlock's pale neck. "I won't be but a few minutes," he promised before he hurried to the bathroom.

His army training paid off as John only needed five minutes to get ready for bed. He was almost giddy with anticipation to share a bed with his lover for the first time. So much that he only realised that he hadn't given much thought to the exact logistics of their sleeping arrangements when he stepped into the kitchen and froze on the spot. There stood Sherlock, in his blue silk pajamas with a pillow in one hand and a blanket draped over one shoulder. John frowned, he had assumed that...

"I thought it would be wiser not to share a blanket and a pillow. This way, it will be much more comfortable for the both of us."

"Er... right," John agreed as he tried to get his senses back together. Somehow, he had believed that they would sleep in Sherlock's room. His bed was larger after all and John also couldn't remember the last time he had set foot in his lover's room. If his memory wasn't failing him then John hadn't been in the room since before Sherlock had come back from the dead.

"If you have changed your mind..." The snappish and yet insecure tone of his lover jerked John out of his thoughts and he shook his head hurriedly. "No... No, of course not. It's just... you look adorable like this."

And he did. Somehow, in spite of his height Sherlock managed to look like a small child with his bedclothes in hand. Like a small child who wanted to crawl in his parents' bed. And it was a precious picture. Not because John thought of Sherlock as a child - he was a grown man and John wouldn't have it any other way - but because it allowed John to glimpse something from his lover's childhood. It was all too easy to imagine a cute, dark haired boy who lumbered through the dark of the house with his bedclothes to climb in his parent's bed and cuddled up between them.

"If you are set on mocking me, John then I warn you..."

"No!" John held up his hands in a peace offering although he wondered why Sherlock believed that he would mock him. Actually, it was rather strange that his lover always assumed the worst when John referred to him as _cute, adorable _or _sweet._ Certainly something, John should think about but not tonight. Tonight, he was too tired for this kind of brainwork. "It was a compliment."

Dark eyes swept over his body probably searching for a clue that proved John's words a lie. When they didn't find any, their owner relaxed and nodded. "Your compliments are strange," Sherlock muttered with a lopsided grin and without preamble turned around to head for the stairs.

When he reached his room, Sherlock had already arranged his pillow and blanket on the bed and waited for John to join him.

"How did you know that I prefer to sleep on the free-standing side of the bed?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned on his side, with his back to the wall so that he could face John when he joined him under the covers. "You are an army doctor. You are trained to get out of bed at a moment's notice therefore you don't want to be edged into a corner when you sleep."

"You're right."

"Of course, I am."

One long arm reached over John to turn off the lamp on the bedside table and darkness enfolded them. For several long minutes they both just lay there and breathed in tandem as John didn't dare to move. Hell, after so long with Sherlock he should be able to judge if it would be well-received to cuddle up to his lover but... John didn't dare to make another mistake this evening and therefore he waited for what Sherlock would do.

For a long time nothing happened and John started to doze off when his lover moved. He held completely still as Sherlock rearranged them on the bed until he was cuddled up against John. His head was nestled in the crook of John's arm, fingers sprawled over his stomach and one leg was flung over John's hip. All in all, John was damn sure that he would become much too warm in less than half an hour if they stayed like this but he didn't try to untangle himself from Sherlock. If his lover wanted to cuddle, it was more than fine with John.

"Goodnight, Love," he whispered into dark curls and breathed a kiss on top of them.

Sherlock flinched - he must have believed that John was already asleep - but when John didn't say or do anything else, the tension drained from his body. "

Goodnight, John."

Sherlock's voice didn't hint at the reason for his panicked reaction and John wanted to stay awake and ponder over it but his body had other plans. Only seconds later, lulled in by Sherlock's warmth, John sank into the peaceful nothingness of sleep.

OOO

"John, dear!" Mrs. Hudson materialized in her doorway just as John was about to carry the groceries up the stairs. "Sherlock burrowed my sewing kit yesterday. Could you please tell him that I need it back? One of my blouses really needs a once over. It's a shame that they aren't as tear-resistant as they were when I was younger. I could tell you..."

"The sewing kit," John interrupted their landlady before he learned too much about her private life. "I will ask him about it."

"Thank you and... John." Mrs. Hudson's voice stopped him on the stairs once more. "I'm really happy that you two have finally found together but could you please keep it a little down in the living-room, after midnight? It's directly over my bedroom and..."

"Certainly, Mrs. Hudson!" The skin on John's face felt like it was on fire. He had to look more flushed than when he had forgotten to apply sunscreen during his time in Afghanistan once.

In spite of his embarrassment, John somehow managed to carry the grocery bags upstairs and put everything where it belonged before he remembered Mrs. Hudson's request.

"Sherlock?"

No answer. His lover was probably at the morgue and pestering Molly about her newest interesting... _patients._ In this case, John would just have to search for the sewing kit himself if he didn't want Mrs. Hudson to look through their things. He didn't even want to imagine her look if she found all their hidden lube sachets in strategic places. She would probably wink at them and tell them about her... No, better start his search right away.

John worked his way systematically through the small mountains of papers in the living-room and to the experiments on the kitchen table. No sewing kit to be found. A quiet sigh escaped his lips and John wasn't even sure if it was in annoyance or relief. On the one hand, it was good that Sherlock hadn't used the sewing kit to sew body parts together but on the other hand, it meant that the threat of Mrs. Hudson searching the flat was still very real. Of course, he could still ask his lover where the sewing kit was. But seeing as Sherlock tended to forget where he put things when he didn't need them anymore - never his own things though - this was almost as hopeless as searching the whole flat.

John's eyes flickered over the chaos they - mostly Sherlock - had created in the week since they - mostly John - had cleaned up and he almost capitulated. It would probably be easier to buy their landlady a new sewing kit than trying to search this mess. He was halfway through retrieving his phone to look up where he could buy a sewing kit when his eyes fell on the closed door of Sherlock's room. Of course, it was highly likely that his lover had dragged his newest acquirement into his cave and then forgotten all about it. At least, it was worth a try. John squared his shoulders and marched up to Sherlock's room. He gripped the door handle and pushed... it was locked.

Blue eyes blinked up at the innocent looking door in confusion. It didn't disappear or suddenly open at John's stare but it remained firmly closed. And John couldn't remember that Sherlock had ever locked his door. Closed, certainly... but never locked. Of course, John had always knocked and awaited permission before entering his lover's room but...

No, wait!

He had never been to Sherlock's room... at least not since they had become lovers. The last time, John had entered Sherlock's realm had been after his friend's faked suicide but he had only seen this side of the door since Sherlock's return.

John frowned at the door. Now that he thought about it, they had always had sex in either John's room or in any other room of the flat but never in Sherlock's room. His lover had even blown him in the corridor when John had been on his way to this very door. And speaking of the door, it was always closed. Before his presumed death, John had often gotten a peek inside Sherlock's room from the kitchen doorway but that hadn't been possible in ages.

So, John rubbed his nose with his index finger, it was obvious that Sherlock didn't want anyone in his room... or even to see his room. With anyone else, John would have assumed that they were embarrassed by their own mess and didn't want their partner to see it but this wasn't very likely. Firstly, Sherlock's room had always been clean and neat - not like the rest of the flat - and also because his lover usually didn't care about the opinions of other people.. Therefore it was highly unlikely that his boyfriend was worried about some clothes or books strewn about. No, there had to be another reason why Sherlock locked his door and John would be damned if he didn't figure it out. If only to dismiss the possibility of anything dangerous taking place behind closed doors... like a resumed drug habit.


	2. Open

**Author Notes:** I admit I didn't expect such interest in this story.^^ I hope you won't be disappointed by the conclusion of it.^^

**Open**

"John!"

Sherlock burst into the flat like a tornado. A beaming and bouncing tornado. His visit to the morgue must have gone better than expected. Molly had probably treated him to the body of someone who had died of rare infection... or something along these lines. Usually, John would be thrilled for Sherlock - especially since it appeared that his lover hadn't brought any body parts home with him - but today he merely managed a tight smile. A couple of hours had passed since John had noticed that Sherlock's room was locked. A couple of hours in which John had sat in his armchair and pondered why he hadn't seen his boyfriend's room since his return. Quite a few of his ideas had been dismissed as soon as John had come up with them - like a secret pet - but there were still enough possibilities left to give him a headache. He had to know...

"You are angry."

John's head snapped up at his lover's words and he met narrowed blue eyes as Sherlock sat down in his own armchair and steepled his hands under his chin.

"Why would you be angry?"

John didn't avert his gaze as his lover's eyes flickered over his body to deduce what had happened. Some part of him still hoped that this was just a small misunderstanding. That Sherlock had somehow become used to locking the doors in his time away and that he would invite John into his room with a smile.

"The body parts in the fridge are labeled. My latest experiments are neither stinking nor toxic and... Oh!" Blue eyes widened in surprise and a faint blush spread over pale cheeks. "Mrs. Hudson told you that she heard us when we were in the living-room. John, I swear I didn't consider that her bedroom..."

"It's not about whether Mrs. Hudson heard us fuck like rabbits," John snarled and regretted it a second later when he felt his own face heating up. "She wanted her sewing kit back and..."

"Ah yes, I burrowed it from her. It's in my room but why would you be angry about that? Because I forgot to give it back to her?"

Was Sherlock playing dumb?! It wouldn't be the first time that he had pretended not to know what had John in a strop. "Your room is locked," John pressed out through clenched teeth and had Sherlock blink at him in confusion.

"Yes and?"

"I want to know what you are hiding from me!"

"I'm not hiding anything from you." The lie would have been more believable if Sherlock hadn't gone deadly pale at John's question.

"Of course you are hiding something from me." John jumped up from his armchair and glared down at his lover. "You never invite me into your room, neither for sex nor to share a bed with you. So, there must be something in there that you don't want me to see. Let's see," John tipped his index finger against his chin in mock consideration. "Maybe you have taken up your old drug habit and..."

"If I took drugs, you would have noticed." Sherlock got to his feet as well and frowned down at him. "As close as we are these days it would be impossible for you to miss if I took anything. You even picked up on the fourth nicotine patch on my arm, last week although I removed it before I took off any of my clothes."

Defensively, John crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course, Sherlock was right. He would have noticed if his lover had chosen to take drugs but still... He wanted to know what Sherlock hid from him. He opened his mouth to say as much when his lover beat him to it.

"You are not worried about a drug habit - not really. No, you aren't even truly angry but insecure. You fear that I hid something from you that will ruin our relationship and you had the time to obsess about it and now you won't let it go until you have your answer. Like a dog with a bone."

John knew that it was a bait. He had argued with Sherlock often enough to recognize one when it was thrown at his feet but he was too tempted not to jump on it. No matter that this was Sherlock's way of evading a conversation, John still couldn't let this one go. "Oh yes, because the last time you hid something from me, it didn't destroy anything between us. You were just gone for two fucking years in which I mourned you and thought of my gun as my closest friend. How shall I trust you after everything that happened?!"

Oh Fuck!

John almost grabbed for the words to hold them back as they shot from his mouth and slammed right into his lover. Sherlock stumbled back with a pained gasp as if John had slapped him.

"Sherlock... I didn't mean..."

"Yes, you did, John. Every word."

Christ!

John stared helplessly after Sherlock as his lover marched to his room and a few seconds later a click announced that it was locked once more.

How could this have gotten out of hand so fast? Because he was an idiot, John answered his own question with a resigned sigh. Sherlock had been right, some part of him was still insecure about their relationship and how strong the foundation of it was. Nevertheless this shouldn't be a reason for John to attack Sherlock like this especially seeing as John _did _trust him. Maybe not the same way he had trusted his lover before he had faked his own suicide but he still trusted him with his life.

John limped into the kitchen and stared at the closed door of Sherlock's room. He didn't know how to prove to his lover that he trusted him. Hell, he didn't even know how to apologize for his harsh and hurtful words but... he had to do something. If only to prevent himself from smashing his head into the next wall.

In the end, John settled for preparing lasagne. It was a calculated decision and not solely based on the fact that he had all the necessary ingredients at hand. No, in some way it was also an attempt at an apology to Sherlock as his boyfriend loved lasagne and had managed to eat four helpings of it once.

Just when John put the casserole in the oven, the door to Sherlock's room opened and John turned around to his lover. "Sherlock," he started and then stopped abruptly when he noticed the puffy red eyes of his boyfriend. He had never seen Sherlock looking like that. Somehow, he hadn't even believed that Sherlock could cry to such an extent that his eyes were almost swollen shut and the area around them blotchy red.

"Come to my room, John." The usually so controlled voice was hoarse and John hated himself for it. Hated himself for being unable to control his feelings and think his words through. Hated himself for hurting the person, he loved most in the world.

"No," John replied as his lover was about to turn back around. "I don't want to invade your privacy. Whatever you don't want me to see... it's fine."

Sad blue eyes met his own. "It's obviously not fine if you don't trust me to..."

"I trust you!" John crossed the distance between them and clasped Sherlock's hands between his own, meeting a skeptical gaze. "I trust you with my life. My heart. With everything I have. It's just... sometimes it all comes back. All the grief, anger and pain but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"It was my fault after all that you went through all of it." Sherlock didn't sound convinced but at least he didn't break free of John's hold.

"And you apologized for it and I accepted your apology and forgave you so I shouldn't blame my bad mood on you. Especially since... I love you."

John snapped his mouth shut. He hadn't intended to confess his feelings. The words had just made it past his lips before he could stop them. And now... it was out in the open. How he felt for Sherlock. It wasn't that John feared rejection - he was damn sure that Sherlock loved him back - but it was probably one of the worst moments to confess your love for the first time. After a big argument that had reduced your lover to tears.

John waited with bated breath for Sherlock's response which came - after endless seconds - in the form of a bone cracking hug. But before John could reciprocate, Sherlock was already dragging him down the floor and over the threshold into his room.

"Just don't... laugh." It was all Sherlock said before he switched on the light.

At first, John didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There was the wardrobe, the poster of the periodic table on the wall, the cabinet with curiosities, the bed and... Oh! This was it! This had to be the reason why Sherlock hadn't allowed anyone into his room. It was... hilarious.

A giggle broke free from his mouth and it would have turned into a laughing fit,if a sharp intact of breath hadn't abruptly sobered John.

"I knew that you would laugh," Sherlock whispered to the wall. "It's childish and stupid but I couldn't get rid of them."

"That's why you always became so defensive when I called you _cute _or _sweetheart._" John finally thought he understood a little more about his boyfriend. "You thought it childish to have them in your room and then you believed I saw you as childish and..."

"And don't you see me as childish now?!" A bitter laugh echoed through the room. "I'm a thirty-five year old man and I possess more plush toys than any five year old child."

John's eyes flickered back to the bed. One side of it was completely free while the other side was covered in plush toys in various forms and shapes. There were at least seven teddy bears, a fox, two squirrels, a bunny, a small lion and four cats.

"I think most five-year-olds have more than 16 plush toys but," John hurried to continue when Sherlock turned around and narrowed his eyes at him. "That's not why I laughed."

"Why then?"

"Because," John sighed quietly. "Because I imagined all kind of terrible things you could have hidden from me and in the end it's something completely harmless."

"But it's childish."

John frowned at this statement and then considered it carefully before he could put his foot in his mouth again. Plush toys were mostly seen as toys for children but John knew enough adults that called at least one their own. No matter if it was a remainder of their childhood or a gift from someone dear. Some cuddled up to their plush toys and others put them in cabinets and only patted them on the head once in a while. In John's eyes it was all fine. It was harmless but...

"You didn't have them... _Before._ You obtained them while you were away," John deduced slowly and when Sherlock nodded carefully he added: "I don't think they are childish but if you want to you can tell me about how you get to own them."

There was a long stretch of silence, in which Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's face until he obviously found what he was looking for and nodded. "Fine."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and after a second of hesitation, John followed suit.

One of the teddy bears tumbled over the mattress when both men sat down and John watched fascinated as Sherlock stopped its fall and put him back to the others carefully.

"You really love them," John whispered and Sherlock nodded as he stared down at his hands.

"They were everything I had after I went after Moriarty's men. Well, I said _them_ but actually it was always only one at a time. It started in Brussels when I saw this one," Sherlock pointed at the little lion. "In a shop window and I... bought him and held him when I slept at night... until I had finished the mission in Brussels and moved on to the next one."

John frowned and stroked the soft fur of the small lion. "What did you do to it then?"

"I left it behind." Sherlock averted his eyes and stared at the floor as if he feared that the plush lion hadn't forgiven him yet. "I left them all behind. In every city, I bought a new one and then I left it there... in an empty apartment or wherever else I was staying."

"Why?"

A hollow laugh was torn from Sherlock's throat at this. "Because it would have been impossible to travel with so many plush toys and go unnoticed."

"Yes, I get that. But... if you had kept the lion then you wouldn't have gotten the others and..."

"I had to dismantle Moriarty's network," Sherlock explained slowly as if speaking to a small child. "I knew that I had to stay strong and... it felt like I was giving in to a childish urge when I bought the lion. I thought I had to get rid of such sentiments but then... I needed something to hold onto again and... it felt wrong to take the other one with me when I had left the lion behind so..."

"You left them all behind and bought a new one in each city." John believed he understood it now and his heart went out to Sherlock. He had imagined that the mission of his friend must have been terrible but somehow he hadn't understood what the worst part had been. Sherlock hadn't had anyone to speak with. He had been lonely, probably afraid - No, certainly afraid - and he had bought himself a small, fluffy friend as a comfort. And then - because he could be a big softie sometimes - he had treated them all the same way and left them behind.

John gulped at the last thought. Some might say that they were just plush toys but if you cuddled up to them night after night and trusted them with all your fears and secrets then it was hard to let them go. It was like leaving a small part of yourself behind... and John was only speaking from the one experience when he had had to give up his plush cat because it had been overrun by lice. He couldn't even imagine how bad it must have been for Sherlock. He could just imagine how his lover had pressed each of them to his chest one last time - maybe kissed their head - and then placed them on a clean surface and left without looking back.

John took a shaking breath to stop himself from tearing up at the heartbreaking image and instead focused on more important matters. "If you left them behind then how did they get here?"

A quiet chuckle and then just one word: "Mycroft."

And this explained it better than an elaborated story and it redeemed the elder Holmes' brother as well - at least a little. Who else if not Mycroft could locate the plush toys of his little brother all around the world?!

"He didn't find them all. I left one to a small child in a shopping center and two others I left behind in churches because I was sleeping in the streets back then."

John forced himself not to imagine Sherlock in the streets - alone and cold - and instead tried to focus on something else. Thankfully, he came up with something very fast. "So, the sewing kit..."

"Yes, the arm of this one," Sherlock held one teddy out for inspection to John. "is loose and I wanted to sew it back on but I'm afraid that I won't get it right and ruin it."

John took the small teddy from his boyfriend's hand, examined the hurt arm closely and then nodded. "Good that you have a doctor in the house."

Sherlock blinked. "You mean you would..."

"Of course, I would be a terrible surgeon if I couldn't sew the arm of a teddy back on." In fact, John had loved to heal plush toys at the _Teddy Hospital_ \- where small children could bring their sick darlings - when he had still gone to medical school. He had even volunteered a few times. "Tell you something," John smiled up at Sherlock. "I will repair his arm and you set the table and then we spend a nice evening together."

A smile - only a small one - but a smile nonetheless graced Sherlock's face before it vanished a second later and he bit down on his lower lip. John raised an inquiring eyebrow but didn't say anything. He had learned a long time ago that it was better if Sherlock found his words in his own time. His patience paid off when Sherlock finally asked: "Would you sleep here with me, tonight?"

John gaped for a second but before Sherlock could take his silence the wrong way he nodded. "Of course, there is more space in your bed than in mine even with the plush toys."

"So, you don`t want them to go?"

Even if John had wanted such a thing he wouldn't have been able to demand the removal of the plush toys when Sherlock was looking at him like this. Insecure and pleadingly. "No, they can stay. As long as you don't complain that I don't cuddle with you because I wake up with an armful of teddy bears in the morning."

A brilliant grin lit up Sherlock's face. He pressed a quick kiss to John's brow and then he was off to the kitchen. Leaving John alone with the hurt teddy.

John glanced behind himself at the plush toys and estimated that he would have enough space to sleep in the bed without problems and then grinned down at his patient. "I can't even start to tell you how glad I'm that this was all that was hidden in his room."

Either John's blood sugar was too low and he was starting to hallucinate or the bear had winked at him. Either way, a portion of lasagne wouldn't hurt. John pecked the nose of the teddy and then hurried into the kitchen to get at least one full plate of lasagne before his lover could devour all of it.

OOO

"Sherlock."

They were lying in bed together. Sherlock was snuggled against his side, with his mop of curls bedded on John's chest and already half asleep judging from his deep breathing. John wasn't there yet. He had to get used to the plush toys in his back yet. Especially to the sneaky lion that always managed to find its way to the crook of his neck to cuddle up to John. "Do they have a name?"

"Mhm?" Yes, his sweetheart was definitely half asleep if he couldn't even follow this simple conversation.

"The plush toys. Do they have a name?"

Silence and John almost believed that Sherlock had fallen aslee, but then: "John... they are all _John_ because I didn't want anyone else with me. I just wished that John... that you..."

"Shh." John held Sherlock close to him as his lover pressed his nose to his chest and just breathed in and out for quite some time while John fought against his own emotions. He knew that Sherlock loved him - although he hadn't said it in quite these words - but he hadn't been aware that he had meant so much to his lover even back then. It was... humbling to learn that Sherlock had held such deep feelings for John for such a long time and yet he had still managed to leave him behind in order to protect him.

The feelings that came with that realisation where overwhelming and John squeezed his own eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill over as he held onto Sherlock. He could deal with his newly found revelations later. For now, he only needed to hug Sherlock close and allow him to feel that John was there for him.

And he always would be, John thought fiercely to himself as Sherlock's breathing evened out and he fell asleep. As long as his heart was beating, John would always be there for him to make up for all the lonely nights that Sherlock had endured.


End file.
